It's Never Just Sex
by Scribe Teradia
Summary: Draco's review of Pansy's new book turns out almost exactly the way she expected. Rated for language and SMUT. OneShot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

**Author's Note:** For those who have read my in-progress piece 'Curse You, DeWitt!', yes, this is basically the same Draco and Pansy, mostly because I was too lazy to come up with alternate setting variables when I already had perfectly good ones set down. In theory, it's set about six to nine months before the beginning of that piece, and really stands alone all by itself for those who don't feel like reading some other story that's not yet completed. Really, it was meant to be an exercise to see if I could successfully write smut on my own (which I generally don't do), and the fact that an actual story emerged came as a bit of surprise, but it's managed to not be something I'll totally hate in the morning, so... on with the story!

**It's Never Just Sex**

**by Scribe Teradia**

_"Are you sure about this?" she asked him, her words almost lost in a gust of wind as they stood on the parapet of the castle._

_"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he rumbled in reply, pulling her close and bending his head. His lips sought hers for a kiss, and she sighed against his mouth as his tongue mingled with hers, her fingers threading through the silken strands of his hair. Later, they would go down to face his family, and hers, but for the moment all was right with their worlds so long as they had each other._

_The End_

"What do you think?"

Draco looks up from the manuscript and smirks, faintly, at her expression. Pansy is not known for being anxiety-ridden, yet he can read her nervousness easily enough. "'All was right with their worlds so long as they had each other'?" he asks, quoting the text.

Pansy's expression changes, becoming petulant. "You hate it."

"I didn't say that!" Draco protests, setting the manuscript down and moving to sit beside her on the plush sofa.

"You didn't have to," she counters. Even when she sounds disappointed, her voice is a purr, and he's often wondered if she practices talking like that. "I know you, Draco."

"Don't do that, Pansy, I was only teasing." He knows he shouldn't tease her, and regrets it now, but then he always does. Cruelty is ingrained in his nature, however much he tries to hide it, and she knows this better than he does. He sighs, dragging a hand through his platinum hair. "Really, I think it's great."

She looks up at him, dark green eyes full of suspicion. "You do?" It's a demand, but her voice is still low and husky, and his hormones react to it in spite of his higher-brained intentions to just read the book and leave.

"I do." His own voice has softened in response to hers, and he reaches for her hand, long fingers trailing over the back of her wrist. "Your best work yet, Pansy."

Her breath catches, at his touch, her eyes wide and fixed on his face. "I thought we weren't going to do this any more," she says, but that whiskey-smooth purr of a voice is breathless now, and he can feel her pulse quickening, beneath his fingertips.

Draco lifts her hand, turns it over, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to her palm, his tongue just barely flicking against the skin. Pansy's eyes flutter shut, a shiver running through her as she tries to suppress a moan. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his lips moving toward the heel of her hand and then to her wrist, to kiss the pulse point there.

"Ahh, n-no." Pansy's eyes open wide again at the feel of his teeth lightly nipping the skin of her wrist, and she sucks in a breath. "You're not playing fair," she accuses, but her pulse is racing, under his mouth, and he can tell by the sound of her voice that he's getting to her.

"I rarely do." His breath is hot on her skin as his lips travel upward, lavishing attention to the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm. She smells faintly of jasmine and vanilla, a scent the lower part of his brain has come to associate with Pansy on a subconscious level. He reaches her elbow and licks the inside of it, and she tries to suppress another moan. He lets go of her, abruptly, shifting away from her, his expression suddenly hard, the familiar Malfoy cruelty coming into play. "How's the new boytoy working out?"

Pansy makes a small, frustrated noise, scowling at him. "That's _not_ fair, Draco. We agreed to see other people, we were making each other miserable."

He looks at her, silver eyes flinty and unreadable, and his lips curl in a sneer. "Then why am I here, Pans? You could just as easily have sent the manuscript for me to read at home. Why the excuse to have me drop by?"

"Oh, come off it, Draco, you know I would never trust my manuscript to something as unreliable as owl post." It's an excuse, though, and he knows it, saying nothing and waiting for her to finish. She finally blows out her breath in a sigh and glares at him. "And I wanted to see you," she says, finally.

Triumph flashes across his features, the victory lighting up his eyes, but he's not going to let her off that easily. "Why?" he drawls, watching her squirm at the sound of that single word, delivered in a low, husky rumble of a purr.

She lifts her chin, leaning toward him just a little, a gesture that shows her acceptance of his dominance. "Because no one can compare to you." Her voice is pitched just right, bypassing his rational brain completely and yanking his hormones to heel, making his trousers feel entirely too tight suddenly.

With a growl, Draco moves, pressing her back against the sofa, his mouth on hers, his tongue parting her lips and diving between them hungrily, one knee parting her legs, his hands moving without hesitation to the buttons on her blouse. That she's wearing a blouse with buttons is one more indication that she was wanting this, she told him once that buttons are easier to remove while still kissing, but she prefers the ease of pulling a jumper over her head when it comes to dressing for the day. Her teeth nip at his tongue, her hands busily tugging his shirt from his trousers and sliding beneath it, her fingers cool against his skin. He pulls his mouth from hers and tilts his head, catching her earlobe in his teeth before kissing the side of her neck, losing patience with the buttons and tearing her blouse open the rest of the way, sending the remaining buttons flying with the sound of popping threads.

Further proof that she was expecting this lies beneath the blouse: her bra is a barely-there scrap of filmy white lace. Pansy's figure is lean and athletic, almost boyish, but she's learned to make the most of what few physical assets she does have (someone, he doesn't know who, introduced her to some Muggle shop called Victoria's Secret, and she owns a number of push-up bras) when she's out in public. They've long since moved past such pretenses between each other, however, and he rewards her by lowering his head to lick at one of her nipples through the thin fabric. Her back arches, pushing her breasts toward him further, fingers curling against his chest until he can feel the prick of her fingernails, and this time she doesn't even bother trying to supress the moan that escapes her. Draco's teeth drag the lace aside, the better to nip and suckle her breast unhindered, before switching to the other side to repeat himself, his hands sliding downward to rest on her thighs, just below the hem of her skirt, teasing the bare skin there until her hands lift from his chest to twine in his hair as she whimpers. "Please, Draco."

His immediate response is a smirk, lips curving against her breast, but he shifts lower, obediently, trailing kisses down her bare midriff, then swirling his tongue in her navel. "This what you want, Pans?" he purrs, the vibration of his mouth against her stomach making her gasp.

Delicate fingers tug at his silky platinum hair, fingernails scratching his scalp, as Pansy tries to push his head lower. "Dra-aco," she whines, somehow managing to make even _that_ sound sexy, reminding him of why he's really there. "Don't tease," she pleads, eyes wide and dark as she looks down at him.

"If you insist," Draco rumbles, though he's already moving, his hands shoving her skirt upwards and then making short work of her knickers, the sound of popping threads almost too loud in the stillness of her flat, and he can hear her start to protest his mistreatment of her undergarments. Shouldering her legs further apart, his hands slide beneath her to cup her backside and lift, tilting her hips upward at just the right angle to silence her protesting before she can really form the words. Her scent hits his nose and draws a rumble of approval from his chest, his head lowering without further teasing, to taste her. Pansy's fingers curl tighter in his hair, her hips bucking upward toward his mouth, her back arching with pleasure.

Eight years, since he first touched her in anything beyond friendship, on a rainy afternoon at Malfoy Manor when they were thirteen, when they both admitted to curiosity and gave themselves to each other on the floor of his bedroom. Years of exploration, of love and loss and heartbreak until finally they decided they were better off without all that romantic nonsense and went back to just being friends... albeit friends with some serious benefits. Draco knows every inch of her body intimately, knows precisely how she'll react when his tongue probes at her sensitive flesh, and while he doesn't love Pansy, not really, not romantically in the fashion of happily ever after and those novels she's made a fortune writing, he loves knowing that he can do this to her, loves the sound of her voice as she pants and whimpers and moans and begs for more, teasing her with lips and tongue and the occasional light grazing of teeth that makes her scream in frustration. Only when she's completely and utterly at his mercy does he give her what she wants, sliding two long fingers inside of her and then back out, lips and tongue working hard and fast to bring her the release only he can give her. Her body bucks and writhes beneath him with the force of her orgasm, her hands no longer in his hair but on her own breasts, the bra long since removed and cast aside, her voice uttering a wordless cry of ecstasy that only his ears have ever heard.

Draco follows her over the brink and beyond, slowing his pace and withdrawing his fingers but not stopping until she's almost entirely still, too spent to do more than twitch in response to his mouth. When he lifts his head to look down at her, his eyes have darkened almost to pewter, the trademark smirk back on his face. "Inspiration for you next book, Pans?"

She lifts a hand and flutters it listlessly at him, her breathing still short and erratic, her skin flushed all the way down to the top of her breasts, eyes hazy with desire. "Bed," she murmurs, the whiskey-smooth purr gone all soft and muzzy and instantly making him twice as hard. "Please, Draco?"

Wordlessly, he gets to his feet and bends to scoop her up into his arms, and she makes a small, frustrated sound which he's pretty sure is due to the fact that he's still almost entirely dressed. He carries her into the bedroom, setting her gently on the bed and taking the time to finally remove her skirt, which he drops to the floor before climbing over her to settle on her other side. His hand strokes her hip, gently, and she sighs, then lifts her arms over her head to stretch from the tips of her fingers down to her toes, showing off the full length of her body to best advantage. He watches her, knowing her well enough to know that she wants him to watch her, especially when her hands come down and skim across her chest, then down her flat stomach and then over her hips.

Pansy turns, propping herself up on an elbow so that she can look down at him, and frowns. "It's completely unfair that you're still mostly dressed, you know that?"

Her expression makes him laugh, and he reaches up to thread his fingers through her hair. "So you've told me before. What, pray tell, do you plan to do about it?" As much as he loves to be in control, he's equally happy to let her turn the tables on him, which is why he merely smirks at her when her hands seek out the buttons for his shirt, working them with a quick efficiency he's always marveled at, with her.

"Draco..." Her voice pulls him back to reality, and he realizes her hands have stopped, her gaze focused on his chest, the new scar just below his breastbone on the right hand side.

He moves his hands to take hold of her face, gently, tilting her head so she's looking into his eyes, and not at the most recent souvenir from his less-than-healthy pursuit of dark wizards and former Death Eaters in the name of justice and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "It's okay, Pans. I'm okay. Still here." He pulls her closer, pulls her down, so that he can kiss her, reassuring her that he's really okay, and hopefully refocusing her on the reason she asked him to come by.

She melts against him, into him, and then breaks free of his kiss so that she can more thoroughly explore his chest with her hands and mouth, displaying her own intimate knowledge of his body. Her teeth close on one of his nipples and he hisses, his back arching in echo of how he made her move, earlier, her dark hair a contrast to his pale skin. She doesn't tease him long, though, never does once she's properly motivated, her hands already undoing his trousers even as her mouth makes its way downward, her tongue laving at his navel only because he'd done it to her, and then she lifts her head, her eyes fixed on his as her hands pull his trousers and boxers down together. Once she's got them far enough down his legs, she uses her foot to peel them the rest of the way off, kicking them to the floor and favoring him with a smile, an almost predatory gleam in her green eyes. "Now we're almost even," she purrs, her hands sliding up his legs to stroke him.

Draco's hips buck toward her hands, his back arching again as he lets out a low groan. "Pans." It's followed a moment later by an all-out moan when her mouth takes him, his head falling back and eyes closing. She knows precisely how to torment him, lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth to make him hiss, hands moving where her mouth can't reach, driving him absolutely insane by bringing him to the edge and then backing off, and then suddenly she's let go altogether, and he starts to open his eyes only to close them all over again when she settles herself atop him, around him, her moan drowning out his own.

It's moments like this that make him wonder how he can _not_ be with Pansy, because when they're together like this it's good, so very good, and _right_ in a way it's never been with anyone else. She rolls her hips, causing them both to gasp, and then she's pressing her chest to his, her teeth finding his earlobe and nipping delicately before that voice, that damnable bedroom voice of hers whispers, into his ear, "Fuck me."

The reminder, that this is not love, and however tender and sweet they can be together it's never _making_ love, that it's entirely about the physical release, and Draco growls, his arms pulling her close so that he can roll them both over without missing a beat, hips drawing back to pull almost all the way out of her before driving himself back in, so hard it silences her altogether. Her legs wrap around him, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper, and he manages two more slow withdrawals followed by violent thrusts before she's clawing his back with her fingernails and begging him to stop toying with her and just _fuck_ her already, please, Draco. It's the way she screams his name that does him in, and he loses control, pounding into her hard and fast and feeling her body shudder beneath him twice, no, three times before he utters a wordless cry, hips pinning hers to the bed as release finally comes, her teeth digging into his shoulder and her nails drawing blood on his back.

Spent, he rolls over rather than collapse atop her, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her with him, reluctant to end things just yet because it feels so good to be inside of her still. Her weight on his chest is comforting, and he strokes her back with one hand, his fingers playing along her spine until she shivers against him. "You should go," she murmurs, her purr hoarse from screaming his name.

Draco sighs, bringing his hand up to brush her hair out of her face so he can look at her. "Pansy, you know I--"

"Don't," she says, pushing away from him so fast it almost stings, rolling off the bed and to her feet to glare at him. "Draco, we _agreed_. Don't do this."

Slowly, he pushes himself up to look her in the eyes, hating the pain in them, knowing it's his fault, again, and he's going to hurt her, again. "It's not that I don't care about you, Pans," he says, sighing again.

"Don't do this," she repeats, tears welling up in her green eyes. "Why do you always have to _do_ this? Why can't it just be sex, for once? You come by, we fuck, you leave, I have something new to write about."

He climbs out of bed and retrieves his clothing, pulling it on slowly and wondering if there's any way to salvage things without wounding her, the way he always does. Finally he walks to where she's standing, watching him, still nude and vulnerable even though she tries to hide it beneath a veneer of disdain. She tries to back away and ends up backing into the wall, and he snares her, pulling her hard against him, her lean body fitting against his in all the right places, and he claims her mouth with his, even as she tries, putting up a half-hearted fight that convinces neither of them. Lips and teeth and tongues battle, and Draco wins because he fights dirty, his free hand dropping to reach between her legs to where she's still so wet it's a wonder it's not dripping down her legs. Draco wins because he _always_ does, and she moans into his mouth, hips bucking against his hand, and he presses her back against the wall, grinding his hips against hers to draw out another moan.

Then he leaves her there, panting, knowing full well her whole body is wanting more, wanting him to come back and finish what he's started, again, silver eyes flashing because he _could_ satisfy her, satisfy them both, but because he's a Malfoy, and cruelty is ingrained in his nature, finds it more fitting to just leave her there, just like that, wanting more. Always wanting more. "Because, Pans," he replies, finally, unsurprised at how smooth as silk his voice is, no hint that he even _wants_ to satisfy her, "it's never just sex, with us."

With that parting shot, Draco walks back to the living room, picks up his shoes and cloak and any other traces of his presence, and lets himself out.


End file.
